


Swim Good

by vicewithavice



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ben-Hassrath Bull, Hissrad, M/M, Merman Dorian, Seheron, Water/Drowning warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 07:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6070747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vicewithavice/pseuds/vicewithavice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the midst of chaos, Hissrad rescues an injured merman and turns his life around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swim Good

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a drabble on my tumblr and got out of hand. Y'all are a bunch of filthy enablers and I love it
> 
> I wish I was sorry about the title but I'm not.

Nights in Alam were never quiet, but sometimes the wind would carry the sound of fighting away. On those nights, Hissrad walked down to the ocean, preferring a sleepless night out in the fresh air to one tossing and turning in his cramped room. No one would come looking for him, and enough people knew him by sight to know not to start trouble as he walked down the dark beach. The moon was high overhead, providing more than enough light for him to navigate to his way easily to the rocky lookout, tinting the crashing waves with sparkling tips that glimmered beautifully beneath him. He sighed as he sat on a smooth boulder, imagining a world where he could appreciate the beauty of the scenery instead of seeing ambush opportunities and bloodshed.

The sound of splashing was almost lost to the waves, but the cries weren’t. He jumped to his feet, one hand drawn instinctively to his weapon, and edged closer to the edge of the rock, scanning the shoreline. Pale hands, human or maybe elf, crested from the water, grappling at the sharp rocks below, struggling to maintain a grasp in the push-pull of the waves. Even from twenty feet above, he could see the blood on the fingers and forearms as they scraped against rock and sand. 

“Shit.”

Hissrad made his way down the rock formation, stepping carefully on the slick surfaces. He saw a head bob up and take a gasping breath before slipping back under, and moved faster. The water was chest deep here, but the waves threatened to take his feet out from under him, so he dug them into the sand to anchor himself and reached out. His hand wrapped around a forearm and he tugged, bringing the man in closer.

But not a man. Or, not one he’d seen before. 

Bare chest made way to shiny scales at his waist, and where he should have had legs, it tapered into a long and flowing fin. Cuts and scrapes marked him, and several scales jutted out in odd positions; he didn’t know what to do about that, so he let it be until the man regained consciousness. Then there was the problem of breathing; Hissrad didn’t see any gills on the man, was it alright to keep him out of water? Should he pour water on him, like he’d seen with beached whales?

He compromised by moving to a shallower section along the beach and propping him up, half in the water. If he didn’t know any better, Hissrad would say the man looked Tevinter, with the dark hair and brown skin, but he hadn’t heard of Tevinter merpeople, and Qunari intelligence would definitely have known about them. 

The sound of fighting was getting closer, the clash of swords and sizzle of magic that seemed so far off half an hour ago was drawing near. He hefted the merman into his arms, he was lighter than he expected, and walked quickly through the water, splashing with each step. A small alcove lay half a mile up, only accessible by the water at high tide. It was a struggle to get to, but he managed to haul the man up first, his feet kicking to keep him afloat while he held him over his head and onto the ledge. Then himself, sliding up on his stomach. It was cold and dank, but it was safe. 

“Impressive.”

Hissrad spun around to see the merman sitting with his back propped up against the wall and his fin dangling in the water. He was inspecting the cuts on his body with a frown. “You, I mean, not this hovel. Carrying me around like that, most of you land-dwellers can’t manage it what with the waves and and the sand and all.” He shovelled water over himself with his tail, splashing Hissrad in the process.

“Watch it.” He growled. He was cold and wet and kinda pissed off that the man had been conscious the entire time and hitched a free ride. 

“My apologies.” He braced his arms on the mouth of the cave and sank himself into the water, his elbows resting on the lip so he could watch Hissrad with a smile that exposed knife-like teeth. 

Hissrad had heard that while merpeople typically ate small fish or mussels, they’d been known to go after land-dweller flesh, usually for self-defence. He didn’t know if that was true, but the way the man was looking at him now, he had the feeling of a pig being sized up in a market.

“You’re not gonna try to eat me, are you?” He asked. Better to get that part out of the way first.

The man laughed, his tail shaking in time with his shoulders. 

“I could ask the same of you.” He replied. “‘Watch out for those horned ones, Dorian,’ I was told. ‘They’ll fry you up like salmon.’ Trite propaganda. You can’t all be so bad.”

“Well, we definitely won’t eat you.” 

“I appreciate that. Now tell me, where did I end up? I was seperated from my pod and got carried off in a current. They’re probably out of their minds with worry.”

The story didn’t ring true to Hissrad, but he didn’t press it. “You’re in Alam, western Seheron.”

Dorian- he assumed- sputtered. “Seheron? As in the Qunari occupied island to the north?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Hm. Excuse me.” With barely a ripple, he sank down until his head was covered and opened his mouth in a muffled scream. Bubbles rose to the surface, then slowly settled and he popped back up, brushing the wet hair from his face. “That’s no fucking good. I have to get back to my- I have to get back.”

There was fear on his face, he didn’t try to hide it. Tevinter, if that’s where he was from, was a long way from here, and the sea was full of Qunari fishermen and dreadnoughts, each of them a threat. Just the fact that he had made it this far without swimming into a net was lucky; he didn’t expect Dorian could make it a second time.

“I’ll help how I can but-” Hissrad stopped suddenly, his ears straining. The fighting was closer now, bigger than he thought. An explosion rattle the cave, freeing loose rocks on the ceiling that rained down on his head. Dorian pushed back from the ledge and sank so just his eyes were above water, looking around for the source. He ducked just in time to avoid a fireball that flew inches above him. Whether it was a stray shot or aimed at Dorian, he knew they had to move. 

“This way,” Dorian beckoned, and Hissrad trusted him. He sank slowly into the water and swam near the rocks, fighting the swell of the waves as they pushed him against them. He ignored the pain of his skin scraping as best he could, focused on Dorian’s tail flashing in front of him. He struggled to keep up; horns weren’t made for buoyancy, but when he slowed Dorian waited for him to catch up.

“This is maddening!” Dorian said, roughly grabbing Hissrad’s wrist. “Just kick your useless legs and take a deep breath.”

He barely had time to suck in a lungful of air before Dorian submerged them both and took off, Hissrad in his grip. It was a lot faster this way, but not any more pleasant. His horns bumped into protruding rocks, his lungs burned and protested. When he needed a breath he tugged Dorian’s hand, who would break the surface in a huff and wait for him impatiently before diving down again. They did this a few times before they were comfortably clear of the fighting and the sky was a lighter blue on the horizon. 

Dorian pulled Hissrad up to a patch of soft sand, and he collapsed onto it, his legs aching and his breaths uneven and impossible to control. He closed his eyes, counted in-two-three-four, exhale, told his body to relax, he was too close to hyperventilation. When he sat up again, Dorian was gone, his prints in the sand washed away. He looked out into the endless sea, and he thought he saw the flash of a fin in the moonlight.

\--

 

The next night Hissrad went back to the sandy spot on the beach he’d last seen Dorian. As he crossed the shore, he saw signs of last night's fight: craters in the sand that exposed the dark brown clay underneath, and boulders smashed into pebbles. Tonight would be quiet, he knew. Both sides would be paying respect to their dead, preparing the bodies. 

He found a dried out trunk of driftwood and sat on it, watching the ocean. There was still sunlight on the horizon, they were approaching the longest day of the year, and the sky was magnificently orange. He didn't know what he was looking for. A sign that Dorian had made it out alright, or didn't, or something else. During the day he’d asked around about the merpeople, got mainly blank looks in reply. Some of his more superstitious friends told stories of beautiful women luring fisherman out of their boats and to their deaths, only to find their eaten remains washed up to shore months later. 

He managed to doze off on his perch, the first time he’d slept in days, but it was a light sleep and every too-loud wave, each chirp of the birds overhead, even prolonged periods of silence, were enough to rouse him. Still, he’d managed a couple hours of on-and-off sleep, and he felt better for it. 

“I thought you people slept in your houses.”

Hissrad jerked his neck up, eyes open in a flash. Dorian was in the water in front of him, watching with a curious smile. With no jutting rocks to perch on, he was only head and shoulders out of the water, his fin hidden below. He could almost pass for human like this but his sharp teeth and large all-black eyes were uncanny.

“Were you so sure I’d be back here?” Dorian asked. 

“Were you?” Even as he replied, he could feel the relief in him, knowing that nothing had happened to the merman during the day. “Everything alright out there?” He nodded at the sea. 

“Too many close calls.” Dorian admitted. Hissrad had to shuffle closer to the water’s edge to hear him properly. He sunk his toes in, flexed them as they adjusted to the cold. “I’m not sure what would be worse, to be caught by Qunari or the Tevinters.”

“What would Tevinter do if they caught you?” 

“Keep me safe. My entire pod, too, looked after and kept in a nice river or pond with fresh fish to eat. Of course we’d be stuck there forever, kept like pets and put on display for gaping land dwellers.” He bristled.

“Won't your pod come looking for you?”

Dorian's confident smile faltered. Hissrad regretted bringing it up already, but Dorian continued. 

“No. I think they're pleased to be rid of me, if I’m honest. It's been a point of contention that I haven't spawned yet. Our pod’s numbers are dwindling and the best way to defend ourselves is with numbers.”

“So what are you gonna do?” 

Dorian shrugged and sank a bit deeper into the water. “There's more like me near Rivain, which was where I was heading before the current pushed me out here. I hear they're quite feral, but it's worth a shot. If that doesn't work, I suppose I can always just sit on a rock in some foggy moor and seduce traveling dignitaries out of their gold and silver. Wouldn't be the worst life.”

It sounded pretty damn lonely to Hissrad, but he kept his mouth shut. 

Dorian yawned, stretching his arms open as he did, his strong shoulders flexing.

“At the moment I'm in no condition to do much of anything. I need a place to sleep, preferably a cluster of rocks in a secluded area.”

“Don't think you’ll find much.” Hissrad said, scanning the vast sea. “My people are pretty much everywhere out there. We’re pretty big on naval trade.”  
“So I gathered.”

“But if you want to stay here, I’ll keep watch while you sleep.”

Dorian looked at him hesitantly for a while, but sleep must have won out. “Thank you.” 

Hissrad hadn’t thought of it much, but he wouldn't have expected merpeople to look so strong. Moving around underwater required a lot less effort, but he reasoned that it would require a lot of upper body strength for Dorian to lift himself from the water, and the process of propelling himself with his fin would work his core. 

It was such an odd feeling, to be thinking of the mechanics and anatomy of a species he didn't believe existed until just yesterday, but there was also something comforting about it. As a Qunari in a continent of humans, elves, and dwarves, his people had always drawn attention, and derision, from their horns. They were written off as beasts, treated by some as cattle, called ox-men as a slur, and he knew that Dorian’s people would endure the same, if not worse. 

He looked over at Dorian who had curled up on the sand close enough that the waves would crawl up to him, keeping his tail wet. The cuts on his body were healing, though Hissrad had to wonder how badly they hurt, since Dorian was swimming around in salt water all the time. The scrapes on Hissrad’s own shoulders had healed no problem, but he remembered how much they stung after his adrenaline had worn off. 

Dorian slept for a few hours, long enough for the tide to recede incrementally. With a smile on his face, he watched as Dorian's tail would stretch out, chasing the water as it pulled away from his slowly, his eyebrows furrowed in a grimace. 

Hissrad sat in place until Dorian woke, just before sunrise. He would have sat there longer if he had to, if that's what Dorian needed. It was a welcome change of place from all the fighting and secrets, just being able to sit on a beautiful beach, watching over Dorian. Soon, he'd have to start the daily grind of his spy-work, risking his life for a cause he felt himself slipping away from day by day. He didn't envy Dorian's freedom, but he longed to feel it, just for a moment. 

“I'm going to look for another way out of this island.” Dorian said after crawling back into the water. “If I can't find one, I’ll come back here. I don't expect you to meet me-”

“I’ll be here.” Hissrad answered. 

“I don't even know your name, but you've done so much for me.”

“It's Hissrad.” The name felt clumsy in his mouth. When he was younger, he reveled in it, a title as powerful to him as King or Arishok. Now he resented it. He wasn't a liar, he found the truth was the best way to get what he needed, from enemies and allies both. 

“Thank you, Hissrad.” Dorian said. 

“Stay safe, Dorian.”

Dorian nodded and in a quick move submerged himself headfirst, his tail arching gracefully before disappearing under the water. 

\--

Hissrad could barely concentrate on his work that day. He tried all the Ben-Hassrath focusing techniques he knew, but still his mind returned to his spot on the beach. Dorian was out there somewhere, navigating a minefield of Qunari fisherman and Tevinter rebels, and Hissrad was in a shoddy tavern, stein in hand, and eavesdropping in on a conversation they thought he couldn't understand. It was too much, or rather, not enough. His work felt hollow, unfulfilling, so he left. 

He passed other Ben-Hassraths on his way to the ocean, ignoring their looks and calls. No one would question him, he had more experience, better intuition than everyone else; they would assume he had a reason.

The rocky shoreline was empty at this time of day, everyone had a role to play, a job to do. This was a liability, he stood out more with no ambient movement to mask his purposeful steps. 

He made it to the secluded beach as the sun reached its peak in the sky, and he squinted at the reflection of light on the water. With sudden determination, he kicked off his shoes, removed the leather harness around his shoulder, and walked quickly into the water. 

In the hot sun, the cool embrace of the ocean was more refreshing than he could have imagined. He let his body acclimate before diving forward and swimming out deep enough that his toes lost the comfort of the ocean floor. 

In five years in Seheron, it was the first time he'd gone swimming, barring the events two nights. His stroke was rusty but he swam out further into the deeper blue water, clear enough he could see the coral underneath him. Small fish darted out of his path as he let himself sink down, struggling to keep his eyes open to see the reef up close. 

Every once in awhile Hissrad was reminded that even in an area as torn apart as Seheron, there was still beauty. No one had ever mentioned the small reef to him, even close to the shore as it was. Fish of yellow and blue and red flitted around it, unaware or ignoring him. He broke the surface to breath, and when he sank down again he saw the tell-tale flash of scales out of the corner of his eyes. 

Dorian swam up to him, smiling and holding out his hand. Hissrad grabbed it and let himself be pulled along deeper than he would have liked but trusting Dorian to keep him afloat. 

They swam up to an old whale skeleton, covered in moss and fish. He could hardly take in the scale of it, so he forced his eyes open and swam deeper, taking in the length of it, the circumference of its rib cage. When he couldn't hold his breath any longer he created, seeing the skyline of the city further than he had first thought. Dorian stayed below, and in the full of daylight, he finally was able to make out the complexity of Dorian’s fin. It was a warm gold color, with hints of green and copper when the light hit it just so. His skin was just as warm, not pale like most sea creatures, but with the healthy glow indicative of time spent outside during sunny days. 

He rejoined Dorian, explored the whale even closer. An entire ecosystem had formed here, plants and fish and predators all had a place in the vast cadaver, and Hissrad was lucky enough to have seen it. 

But that wasn't all Dorian had brought him down to see, apparently. After rising for another breath, he followed Dorian's outstretched hand to a pile of yellow-orange rocks half buried. He dug a few out, with help from Dorian, and studied them. They were almost the colour of Dorian's tail, but the hue less rich. 

“Ambergris.” Dorian explained when they reached the surface. “Extremely valuable, remarkably pretty. I have no use for it.”

Hissrad had seen jewelry fashioned from the stuff in markets from time to time, each with a price tag that made him scoff. 

“No luck on the escape route, then?” Hissrad asked. He felt the same relief as before, but concern, too. The longer Dorian stayed in one spot, the more likely he was to be caught. They'd been lucky so far, that no one had wandered into their hiding spot, but Hissrad knew not to count on luck forever. 

With the tide up, they swam back to the cave he had carried Dorian into that first night, a feat made easier now that he wasn't hauling the merman this time. They didn't go in, it was too nice a day to waste in there, but they lounged on the rocks, letting the sun dry them off. 

“What do you think killed that whale, Dorian?” Bull asked, picturing a violent and bloody confrontation with a shark. He shuffled down to dip his feet in the water, the gentle waves lapping up to his calves. He never knew how much tension he carried on his shoulders until he felt it melting off him. He looked over at Dorian, who was laying on his back and using his tail to splash water on himself. A droplet ran from his neck down his chest, leaving a tempting wet trail. He followed it with his eyes down past Dorian's flat stomach, to the seam where skin turned to golden scale. “... and the warm northern waters were a shock to its system.”

Hissrad jerked his head back to Dorian, who he only just realized was answering his forgotten question. 

“So, no shark?”

“It would be highly unlikely.”

He slumped in disappointment. “You have to have some cool shark stories.” 

Dorian shook his head. “Sharks are remarkably stupid. Dolphins and some whales are what we need to watch out for.”

At Hissrad's defeated expression, he added “but I have seen a dragon.”

“You're shitting me!” 

His face lit up and he nearly tumbled off the rocks as he repositioned himself closer to Dorian. “I fucking love dragons.”

“Apparently.” Dorian said. “There was a high dragon on an island near where my pod lived. She would fly overhead sometimes, or swoop down for water.”

Smiling, he imagined the sight of a dragon- a high dragon! - circling above them, her cry ringing out across the island. 

“No shit.” 

Dorian dropped back down into the water, swimming around in easy circles. Hissrad kicked his foot out, splashing him. Dorian retaliated by spitting a mouthful of sea water at his face with perfect aim. He lined up for another kick but Dorian rushed forward, catching his ankle in his hand. 

“Hissrad,” Dorian said, his tone suddenly serious. “If it's not too much to ask… can I examine…?” He trailed off and nodded to the foot in his hand. 

“Uh. Sure?”

He never paid much attention to his feet before, except when he hurt them during battle. But Dorian was enthralled, looking at first, then touching. He prodded the sole of his heel, at the calloused skin, then in the sole of his foot. Hissrad's legged twitched and Dorian flinched in surprise. 

“S’okay. Just tickles.”

After a while, when it became clear Dorian would not soon tire of the novelty of feet and legs, Hissrad leaned back on the rock and closed his eyes. It wasn't the first time he'd had someone play with his feet (he remembered a lady in a tavern with that particular interest), but it was the first time someone had done it while occasionally sounding out in awed surprise, and without knowing the word for toes. 

“What delightful little… foot-fingers.”

And Hissrad laughed, because it was so strange, and because it did really tickle.

“How bizarre.” Dorian said, finally placing Hissrad's foot gently back in the water. “I have no idea how you get around on those things.”

“It's not always easy.” He admitted. 

 

When night fell, Hissrad lit a fire from the driftwood in the mouth of the cave, to keep the smoke from blowing into the city and attracting attention. Dorian had brought back a headless twenty pound trout, grinning widely with blood smeared on his teeth and over his chin. Hissrad gutted and cleaned it, throwing half of it on the fire and handing the other half over for Dorian to eat raw. He told stories of his youth at Dorian's request, as mundane to himself as it was foreign to Dorian. He listened to Dorian explain learning to hunt at a young age, and finding dolphins to play with until his parents snatched him away.

They talked all night, until after the fire died out, about dreams, realistic and grand, about their fears. The specifics were different, but the gist was the same: they wanted freedom to explore but the comfort of routine, friends who challenged them but knew their limits, someone to turn to when they needed to vent. 

They both fell asleep without meaning to, even in the dank cave the steady rush of the waves and crackle of embers was enough to lull him into deep sleep.  
His dreams were unclear but violent, a reminder of why he never chased sleep. Dorian shuffled next to him, his tail resting gently on Hissrad's thigh, a reassuring presence that sent him back to a dreamless sleep. 

\--

Abandonment of his post. Aiding the enemy. Disloyalty to the Qun. The charges were mounted against him, none of them he could deny, though he could argue his intentions weren’t to betray his country. The Qun didn't care about his intentions, those subtleties were lost on them. All they knew was that Hissrad had been caught on the beach with, as far as they knew, a Tevinter human. Several Ben-Hassrath agents could testify that they had seen him leave his assigned stake-out position in the tavern and head towards the ocean with no explanation. When his weekly report didn't come in on time, several agents were sent out to find him. They assumed he was dead; finding him in that cave, helping the ‘Vint escape into the ocean, they wished he was. 

He spent a week locked up, under interrogation of the Ben-Hassrath. Hissrad had the upper hand, he knew the techniques, had spent weeks learning to resist them. They went easy on him, gave him regular meals, let him keep his personal effects, but they grilled him, asked for information about the Tevinter man, tried to rule him up, then switched tactics and gave him empathy. It didn't work, and maybe they didn't expect it to. After a week he was discharged, exiled. The sentence hung over him like shackles; he thought leaving the Qun would give him freedom, instead he felt restricted, forced to live out his life somewhere foreign, in a country that wouldn't see past his horns. 

He was herded onto a rickety wooden boat, hands bound behind him, sitting shoulder to shoulder with murderers and conspirators, heading south to an unknown destination.  
No one spoke, so all he could do was berate himself. He had done so much wrong, made it so easy for Dorian to be found, put him at risk. Where was he now, if not caught up in a fisherman's net, or already speared? 

The ocean churned the boat side to side, and though he couldn't see from his spot he could hear the rain hitting the deck. He had seen the clouds creeping in before he was shut away, dark and ominous, a promise of lightning. Some of the exiled were sick from the rocking, others sick from the stewing scent, and the waves grew. Crew members ran around securing the sails and scooping water back into the ocean. There was no one watching the prisoners.

He worked quickly, freeing his wrists easily, then turning to the men on each side. Some deserved their exile, but if they were willing to risk their lives to escape, Hissrad wouldn't keep that from that. Silently, the freed men helped their neighbours, some refused to be unbound. A rogue wave tipped the boat port-side before it was righted with a vigorous slam. The wood cracked from the pressure, he could hear the water trickling through the cracks. 

If they had taken the route he’d navigated in his head, there was an island five miles out, maybe less if the wind had pushed them off-course. If his options were to die with his hands tied on the boat, or drown looking for freedom, he knew which he would choose. 

The door that lead them up to the deck was locked from the outside, but a shoulder check easily bust the lock. Six others joined him, and none of the crew bothered to stop them. It was a suicide bid, and they were saving their own necks. Hissrad hauled both legs over the rails, looked at the white-cap waves that clawed up the boat, closed his eyes, and jumped. 

As he sank into the water, his first thought was that it was cold. Really fucking cold. He kicked his feet, propelled himself up to the surface. Before he could take a breath, water smashed into him with the force of a wall, and then he thought nothing. 

 

He was wet down to his bones, and the cold wind gripped him, set him to shivering. The waves were still crashing, the sound drowned out even his own gasping, shuddering breaths, the howling wind, but the water didn't touch him. His back was on solid ground, the stars above, their light obstructed by the wildly waving palms over his head. 

Every part of him ached, as though he'd been tossed into the air by a dragon. His head pounded, he could feel bruises blooming over his chest and arms, and his thighs were strained, overexerted. Even groaning hurt. 

Looking around wasn't an option, he couldn't lift his neck enough to turn his head, he could only see the trees. He patted the ground around him, expecting dirt or grass, but his fingers caught the edge of a palm leaf. Feeling around further, he learned he was on a layer of fronds, placed under him on a sandy patch of beach. For a moment, his mind supplied an image of the stretch of fine sand back in Alam, the secluded area he’d spent all those hours with Dorian. This was different, he could feel it in the texture of the rocks, the smell of the kelp. If he was lucky, he was at the island he’d aimed for. If he was unlucky, he had drifted off somewhere uncharted with nothing but the sun as a compass. 

He wasn't feeling very lucky. 

With a heaving effort he propped himself up on his elbows, feeling the seawater heavy in his stomach as he did. The salt would dehydrate him if he didn't find a fresh source, but food was easy enough to come by with a sharpened stick and patience. 

“What are you doing?”

With his horns clear of the ground, he swung his head around to see Dorian sitting too close to the ocean struggling to start a fire. 

For an incomprehensible moment, Hissrad thought he had actually died when that wave took him over, or he was at least unconscious at the bottom of the ocean somewhere. Because Dorian was gone, he had watched him swim off into ocean as the Ben-Hassrath stormed their cave. Hissrad had all but pushed him away, knowing his chances were better in the water than against the Qunari spies. Dorian had tried to swim back, offered to help fight if that’s what it came to, but Hissrad had taken enough risks, he couldn’t do it again. He drew his axe against the approaching Qunari, turned his back to the ocean. He had looked, once, during the fight, saw Dorian’s tail flashing in the distance, and only then did he let himself be captured.

And he was here, sitting against the dark grey background of the swirling clouds, the raging ocean, as golden as ever. He looked at Hissrad with concern, his eyes examining him critically before he allowed himself a relieved smile. “You’re awake.”

“I’m… yeah. What?”

“I caught up with your boat. Didn’t think I was going to abandon you, did you?” 

Hissrad heard the words, but didn’t understand. 

“You need more rest. I’ll explain it when you wake up again.”

Sleep, yes, that made sense. He laid himself back down on the leaves, slowly, let himself fall back asleep.

 

A break in the clouds, sun on his face, warmth. It came to him one sensation at a time, and then he was awake. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, his shoulder aching but manageable, and found Dorian next to him. He smiled at the merman and hauled himself into a sitting position, Dorian’s hands on his back to steady him. There was a small pile of fish at his side, scaled but uncooked, and Hissrad devoured it. As he ate, he listened to Dorian explain how he had seen the Qunari boat loaded with prisoners before, back when he was with his pod, so he’d only had to find where it was docked, and waited at the marina every day until he’d seen Hissrad being lead into it. He’d begun to worry that they would keep him locked up ashore, or even kill him. Once he saw Hissrad, he followed the boat from a safe distance, occasionally darting underneath it when he saw nets dragging down to the ocean floor. 

“And after all that, all my patience and swimming and risking getting caught up and you throw yourself off the boat! I was going to save you, you defeatist br-”

And then Hissrad was kissing him. Hand on the back of Dorian’s head pulling him in, the other hand on his waist. After a moment of shock, or consideration, Dorian was kissing him back, letting himself be lifted into Hissrad’s lap, gripping onto his shoulders. The points of Dorian’s teeth bit into his lips just enough to tease, and Hissrad groaned into it, smiled slightly when Dorian licked over the indents. 

“Hissrad…” Dorian’s fingers slackened, he pulled away, letting Hissrad sneak a quick kiss to his temple before waving him away. “What are you going to do?”

“Whatever you want me to.” He growled, nuzzling into Dorian’s neck, tasting the salt on his skin. 

“No, I meant-” He pushed Hissrad back lightly, any annoyance in his voice betrayed by the deep blush staining his cheeks and neck. “I can get you to a small island, and from there you can get a boat into the Anderfels. What will you do with your freedom?”

“Oh. That.” He shrugged, keeping his hold on Dorian but relaxing his grip. “I dunno. Haven’t thought about it.”

“Well you can’t stay here forever.”

The more he thought of it, the more he liked the idea of staying, at least for a little while. He’d spent so much time in Seheron fighting, he’d become so wary of everyone who so much as glanced his way, stopped seeing people as anything but potential threats. Maybe this was what he needed, to be alone for a while, or with Dorian, if he would stay. He asked Dorian if he would.

After a pause and a drawn out sigh, Dorian obliged.

“It’s not like I have anything better to do, do I?”

“Alright! I love camping!”

He tried to hop up in celebration, but the weight of Dorian, plus his injuries, forced him back into the sand with a loud ‘wompf.’ He laughed a bit, and groaned as he ribs protested the fall. 

“Hey… Dorian?”

“Yes?” Dorian had moved into a sitting position and was wiping the dirt off his arm.

“I need a new name… something really badass.”

“Like what?”

“I was thinking about Bull, because of the horns, right? But it could be even cooler. How about: The Bloodstone Bull?”

Dorian wrinkled his nose.

“Yeah, yeah. I haven’t decided yet.” He reached out to Dorian, wrapping an arm around his waist and sliding him in closer. He laughed at the surprised squawk Dorian tried to hide behind a cough. Dorian took the hint and tucked himself into Hissrad’s side, splaying a hand over his chest, the other propping his head up. 

“I think you’re on to something, though,” Dorian mused, absently tracing circles into Hissrad’s skin. Above them, the clouds were dissipating, the winds calming into an enjoyable breeze. Later, he would scavenge for dry logs while Dorian swam around the island, and he could use that time to think more on his new name. It was the first in a long list of things he would choose for himself: name, then job if he wanted one, even who he spent his time with. The thought was daunting, but as he looked up at Dorian, he felt ready to explore the freedoms of his life.


End file.
